


Oh, What a Night

by unpopcultural



Series: Oh, What a Night [1]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Angst, Canon Compliant, Gen, M/M, Mrs. Hudson Ships It, Oneshot, Sad Sherlock
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-12
Updated: 2015-05-12
Packaged: 2018-03-30 04:08:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 943
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3922321
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/unpopcultural/pseuds/unpopcultural
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock returns home from John's wedding and has a chat with Mrs. Hudson.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Oh, What a Night

John hadn't been living at Baker Street recently, but the flat still felt empty without him.

Sherlock hung up his coat and stared at the crime wall (now wedding wall) without turning on the lights. The papers glowed faintly from the streetlight outside, infuriating in their immobile existence. Sherlock carefully pulled the wedding invitation from the wall and let it drop lightly to his feet. The catering information followed, and then the receipt for the tuxedos. Every piece of paper's removal from the wall became more violent until Sherlock was scraping at the papers with his fingernails, letting the torn remnants of someone else's happiness flutter around him before making their inevitable descent to the floor.

Sherlock sank down into the pile of papers. He remained there for some time and almost didn't hear the soft creak of footsteps ascending the hallway stairs. Sherlock turned sharply toward the door and rose to his feet in one smooth motion, heart pounding. The steps were slow and light, most likely those of an older woman with a hip problem. Sherlock's shoulders relaxed.

"Mrs. Hudson, nobody wants you up here right now," he said through the door.

The doorknob turned as Mrs. Hudson let herself in. She turned on the lights before Sherlock could stop her. He winced at the brightness.

"I left the reception early because I was getting tired, and I'd thought I'd check in on..." Mrs. Hudson's eyes drifted to the remnants of the wedding wall. "...on you. John noticed you'd left."

Sherlock stared into the woman's eyes and let her make her own deductions. There was no point in hiding things anymore when the proof was littered around his feet.

"Oh, Sherlock," Mrs. Hudson said. She clasped her hands together. "Are you all right?"

"Yes. Consider me checked up upon," Sherlock replied curtly. "Good night."

Mrs. Hudson stayed by the door. "I suppose I'd always had a suspicion, but I'm sorry to see I was right." She hesitated. "I am right, aren't I? I'm very sorry, Sherlock."

"Do I look like I want your sympathy, Mrs. Hudson?" Sherlock growled. "Or _need_ your sympathy? Or anyone's?"

Mrs. Hudson ignored him. "Let me fix us some tea. Sit down, dear."

Sherlock's lip curled, but he obliged, sinking into his usual chair. It would be too much trouble trying to hustle Mrs. Hudson out of the flat. He might as well humor her.

Mrs. Hudson busied herself in the kitchen. Sherlock closed his eyes and breathed more evenly under the cover of darkness. For a few minutes, Mrs. Hudson was blissfully silent. Then--

"That was a beautiful best man's speech you gave today, Sherlock."

Sherlock kept his eyes closed. "It did not have the effect I intended."

Mrs. Hudson laughed softly. "Tears aren't necessarily a bad thing," she replied, setting down a cup of tea in front of him. Sherlock opened his eyes and picked it up brusquely, watching the liquid swirl around the rim without spilling.

"I realize that now." He took a small sip. "Thank you for the tea."

Mrs. Hudson sat in John's chair and smiled sadly. "I know things must seem bad right now, Sherlock, but it will all be fine, in time. John will still be able to visit often. I'm sure of it."

"Of course. You're absolutely right." Sherlock's voice was hollow. "Despite the fact that it was _you_ who told me marriage changes people."

Mrs. Hudson sighed. "Well, it does, Sherlock. But that doesn't mean you'll never see John again. I know that his friendship might not seem like enough, Sherlock, but eventually it will be." Mrs. Hudson's gaze wandered to the window. She stared blankly ahead for a moment before managing a small cough and stirring her tea. "My friend Margaret, the one I was telling you about... I had always suspected that... Well, never mind. That was a long time ago."

Sherlock swallowed. "You thought she loved you?" he said neutrally, avoiding eye contact.

Mrs. Hudson shrugged. "It was just a suspicion. But I have always wondered what might have been."

Sherlock's hand was trembling. He returned his teacup to the table and smoothed his trousers with both palms. "And you? Did you... return the sentiment?"

Mrs. Hudson didn't say anything.

Sherlock studied her. "You don't want to respond in the affirmative, because you believe that I will liken your situation to mine and glean some sense of hope that will ultimately prove false. Am I right?"

Mrs. Hudson smiled. "Oh, Sherlock. You always did know how to read me like a book."

"You and everyone else," Sherlock muttered.

Mrs. Hudson glanced at her watch and rose to her feet. "Oh my, it's getting late. I'd better turn in." She placed a hand on Sherlock's shoulder and squeezed slightly. "Please come visit me if you ever want to talk, Sherlock."

"Unlikely," Sherlock said, but he covered Mrs. Hudson's hand with his own in thanks.

When he was alone again, Sherlock fished around in his slipper for a cigarette and turned off the lights. He lit the cigarette, an orange glow in the darkness, and felt the smoke fill his lungs. It wasn't nearly enough to kill the pain, but it would do for now.

On his phone, Sherlock saved a message in his drafts: _Hi, Janine. Not to be presumptuous, but would you perhaps like to get dinner sometime this week?_ He wouldn't send it right away; that would look too needy. Perhaps in a few days, while John was busy on his... trip.

Sherlock tossed the phone onto the floor and sprawled out on the sofa, the cigarette between shaking fingers. It just wasn't enough.


End file.
